


Coronation Day

by Elsin



Series: Agnarr/Iduna [2]
Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Collection: Purimgifts Day 2, Confessions, F/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:07:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22951507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsin/pseuds/Elsin
Summary: In which there is a coronation, a proposal, and a confession.
Relationships: Agnarr/Iduna (Disney)
Series: Agnarr/Iduna [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679932
Kudos: 21
Collections: Purimgifts 2020





	Coronation Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DWEmma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DWEmma/gifts).



Agnarr’s coronation takes place a week after his twenty-first birthday, on a bright April morning. Haldor gives Iduna the day to herself; she blushes bright red and stammers out something incoherent, but he smiles knowingly and waves her off.

“I’ll be all right,” he says. “Keep His Majesty steady.”

Iduna’s blush deepens, but she nods and goes anyway.

That night she goes to bed later than she normally does; while she still wakes before dawn, it’s not nearly as early as usual.

She attends the public part of the coronation in her best Arendellian dress, her precious scarf around her shoulders, and though she’s just one face in the crowd Agnarr meets her eyes. She gives him a smile. His shoulders relax a little.

Agnarr takes his oaths, and goes to meet with all the foreign dignitaries who’ve come to meet Arendelle’s young king. Iduna goes into town for a little, then finds herself in the gardens under a just-blossoming maple tree.

He meets her there, as the sun is setting.

“Iduna,” he says, and his voice is quiet and a little rough in a way that Iduna’s never known it to be.

“Your Majesty,” she says.

Agnarr sighs—he always does when she addresses him properly—and rubs his forehead, knocking his crown slightly askew. Iduna reaches up and straightens it before she can stop herself; when Agnarr fixes his gaze upon her she turns red again, redder than any of Haldor’s words could ever make her. He gently gathers up her hands.

“Sorry.”

“Iduna,” says Agnarr again, still in that strange quiet voice, “I think—I’ve known you since we were young. You’ve always been there for me; you’ve helped me through things that—that no one else has been able to. And I know that if—if my father was here—” He closes his eyes in an old grief, and Iduna says nothing, for there is nothing she can say that would help him here; in this he is alone. “If my father was here,” he says again, “he would say that I needed to marry to our kingdom’s advantage. But he _isn’t_ here, and the way I see it, there’s nothing that could be _more_ to our advantage than wedding myself to the woman I love.”

Her heart is beating too loudly, and she swallows. She thinks she knows where he’s going with this, and she doesn’t—she can’t—

Agnarr kneels before her, still holding her roughened baker’s hands between his own—his only calluses are from sword practice and writing, she notices. She doesn’t know _why_ she notices this. It’s hardly important.

“Iduna,” says her best friend, who is also her king, who she’s been slowly falling in love with for years now, “will you marry me?” He’s looking up at her with naked hope in his eyes, and she doesn’t know what to say at all. If she says yes—she _wants_ to say yes. But there’s more at stake than either of their feelings; he can’t marry her without knowing at least _part_ of the truth. Not if Arendelle is to be safe.

“Get up,” she says, a little harsher than she means to, and Agnarr’s expression shifts from hope to confusion and maybe a little heartbreak. She shakes her head. “I’m not—you shouldn’t be _kneeling_ for me. Not now. I want—I _want_ to say yes. But there’s something you need to know first.”

“What is it?” he asks, climbing to his feet. He lets her hands go when she tugs at them, and his eyes are so soft and gentle that she can hardly bear it. She looks down.

“I’m not from Arendelle,” she says, “and I’m not from an outlying village, or a neighboring kingdom, or across the southern sea.” She swallows hard. She could just—say nothing more. Tell Agnarr she can’t marry him, and go back to her life as a baker. She _could_ do all that, and he would respect her silence, she knows. But it’s been so long, and the words tangle in her mouth and she _has_ to say it. Even if he hates her for it afterwards. “I’m Northuldra,” she says, so softly she isn’t sure he heard her at first. “I left the forest not long before it sealed itself off, and I never—I never could go back.”

“That’s why you came here, then,” says Agnarr, and he doesn’t _sound_ angry but she can’t be sure.

“Yes,” she whispers.

Agnarr reaches out and puts his fingers under her chin, tilting her head back, impossibly gentle. When finally she looks at his face again, she finds him smiling.

“It’s all right,” he says. “I must admit I’ve never thought to question what you’ve said about yourself before, but this—it makes more sense than it doesn’t.” He swallows. “Now—now that I know,” he says, “would you—would you marry me, Iduna of the Northuldra?” And there is no judgement in his voice, no resentment or fear, only the self-same kindness and hope that’s been there all evening. That’s been there as long as she’s known him, really.

She almost wants to cry—for all the lying she’s been doing she _certainly_ doesn’t deserve this—but instead she gives him the best smile she can manage and says, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Agnarr frowns at her. “If you’re going to _marry_ me,” he says, “will you _finally_ stop calling me that?”

Iduna _is_ crying a little now, she realizes, but it’s from relief and happiness rather than sorrow. “I think I can manage that,” she says, “Agnarr.”

His smile in response to that single word is radiant enough to outshine the moon.


End file.
